Not Impressive Sundays

Last Sunday morning at swim practice, coach tells me that for the next set she wants to see some fast swimming; that she "wants to be impressed." I tell her: "I don't impress on Sunday."

In honor of that, I present you with Not Impressive Sundays, a recap of all the fucked up highlights from the previous week, either done by me or done to me.

• On Monday I got called out -- in front of the entire lecture hall -- by my Patho professor for talking. How old am I?
  
• Saturday was my course-correcting lunch with L. The goal was to explain to him that even though last Saturday night was fun, I'm not really interested in pursuing anything, on any level, over the next few months. Did that conversation happen? No, of course not. In fact the exact opposite happened - I think we might now be dating. Not sure how that's going to fit into Operation Celibacy, but I guess I'll worry about that when I'm not freaking out about Patho.
• Apparently I'm now sleeping with my textbooks. Went to bed Wednesday night with Health Assessment, started to read it, and when I woke Thursday morning it was still lying next to me, still open to page 402. Sadly, I didn't catch anything from it.
• On Friday, Chicago lost the bid to host the 2016 Olympics. This is Obama's fault, obviously. I was bummed, but then I realized that outside of Chicago, nobody really gives a shit.
• Saturday night I was supposed to stay in to study (for big Patho exam happening this Wednesday) but instead went out to a party and slammed 3 beers in a matter of 20 minutes, pretty much decimating any hope of studying post-party. Why do I do this to myself? On the upside, I got groped in the ass by some guy in the back yard. No, it was totally unsolicited and unwanted, but hey I guess I'll take it any way I can get it.